


Milk and Cookies

by SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Correction: very gentle tender Malcola sex in CH2, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Married Malcola, Mentions of Pregnancy, Smut in CH.2 I promise, Very Firmly a Christmas Thing, mrs claus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff/pseuds/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff
Summary: Happily married Malcola Christmas Eve smut. Nothing more to it than that.
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Santa

**Author's Note:**

> The happily-married Malcola Christmas smut fest that was born out of a love of Nicola in stockings. Just to note this chapter contains very brief mentions of Sam being pregnant through IVF. The proper smutty stuff is coming in CH2 I promise.

Nicola Thornton-Tucker is the only woman in the world Malcolm has met who actually makes the _noises_ when she tackles Kylie Minogue's Santa Baby at Sam's annual Christmas Eve party, which by now has disintegrated to be just the core members in various states of inebriation in Sam's living room. He half-thinks that Sam must have put her up to it, that this entire evening has been part of an elaborate plot to make him get a hard on whilst he's curled up on Sam's sofa for reasons that he really can't fathom. He was subjected to the Ariana Grande version while she was getting ready to go out, and the filthy little ' _mmhmm_ ' in the first verse nearly meant they didn't make it here at all. She's a fantastic singer, much better now she's only had two Baileys and not the usual six mojitos that accompanied her woeful performance at the DoSAC Christmas do. Unfortunately the fact that she's so competent doesn't distract him from staring at her lips the entire time, and he's not even embarassed about it. Queen Christmas herself Sam is seated in Rachel's lap, kissing her deeply in a way that can't be good for the blood pressure of such a heavily pregnant woman, and he thinks about saying something before deciding that would be weird even for him. Jamie is nuzzled up on the other sofa with Gemma, his new-ish bubbly Australian girlfriend, if you can call it a relationship when you seem to only ever have eyebrow-raisingly intricate kinky sex and then proceed to tell all your friends about it. He's not one to judge, but he is one to tease, and he catches Jamie making a cringe-inducing 'joke' about 'milk' and 'cookies' that he files away to jab him with at a later date. Gemma looks equally uninmpressed, good lass, and he forces himself to stop eavesdropping and turn his attention back to Nicola, which really isn't a hardship.

She looks stunning, breath-taking, and that isn't even just one of those things he's picked up from reading far too many editions of Cosmo. When she'd shown him what she was intending to wear tonight, he'd actually had to physically remind himself to breathe, and then even more firmly remind himself that they _had_ to leave the house, or Sam would never forgive him. The outfit in question is what he presumes was marketed as some sort of filthy Mrs Claus number, in direct contradiction to everything wholesome and pious that the Claus family surely espouses. Not that he's complaining. It's primarily made up of a deep red crushed velvet dress with a decidedly flouncy full skirt and the obligatory fluffy white trim that skates just across Nicola's mid thigh. There's a fair bit more leg on show than she'd usually go for, but it's Christmas, so fuck it, right? Thankfully she's managed to stay upright all night (so far), and even remembered to do the Cambridge tilt when she sits down, so he's the only one who knows that just above the hem of her dress is one of the most touchable and enticing suspender sets he's ever laid eyes on. That's saying something, considering the veritable collection she's amassed over the years of being in a relationship with him. Her bridal set is still probably his favourite, but this is a close run second, and he can't wait to get properly acquainted.

Performance over, Nic crosses back over to him in just her stockings, her heels abandoned somewhere in Sam's kitchen when she decided they'd become too uncomfy to justify the increased height to better kiss him and ruffle his hair. She thinks about sitting on his knee, but she'll definitely end up giving Jamie an eyeful of her knickers, and that's probably not what's on his Christmas list. In fact, she knows what's on his Christmas list via Gemma, and it's nothing so virginal as a peek at a fifty year old woman's lacey underwear. Everyone else seems rather significantly distracted, so she sneaks a proper snog from Malcolm and then stands, holding out her hand and smiling, even after all these years, when he takes it and squeezes gently before getting up too. 'Let's make a French exit' he grins, knowing neither of the other two couples will either notice or fundamentally care. He'll text Sam later to say thank you for an excellent night, but from the way she's going at Rachel he highly doubts she'll read it before about eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. And God knows what Jamie's Christmas plans are, but somehow Malcolm doesn't think He'll approve. There's a quick stop off in the kitchen on the way out to the front door, just long enough to find Nicola's shoes, put them on for her without pausing to consider quite how close he now is to the suspenders in question, and then force her to drink a glass of cold water so she doesn't get all giggly and silly on the walk home. The last thing he needs is trying to coax her out of the road or the chicken shop when he's trying to get her home to bed.

It's cold out, and surprisingly quiet, since Sam had the good sense to move to a slightly more 'family-friendly' part of London when she first turned up at their group Sunday lunch brandishing leaflets about IVF and asking Nicola questions about birthing pools. There are a few other couples tottering home, a couple of groups of students who are loud and playful and make Nicola giggle, her smart grey coat thankfully covering all manner of sins. It's a short walk home (Jamie has a theory that all the middle class mothers of London must live within a two mile radius to keep their special powers), and they're both only slightly chilled as Malcolm unlocks the front door and carefully shuffles Nicola inside. 'Get those fuckin shoes off before ye fall down, lassie' he grins, watching her take her coat off and hang it neatly before giving him a right eyeful as she bends right down to undo the ankle straps. 'Very elegant, darlin' he teases, putting them away next to his smart shoes when she's finally wiggled them off, before catching himself just staring at her toes and her stockings. Fuck's sake. Only three years into a marriage can you find yourself becoming enamoured with your wife's wiggly little badly painted toes. There's really no need for flirting, not that they're a complacent couple, just that they've been flirting with each other all night, in their own way, and all it takes is a soft 'Bed?' from Nicola in that slightly posh voice she does when she wants him, and he's dashing up the stairs like fucking Blitzen, very closely followed by Vixen.

It's freezing in their bedroom, since _someone_ had the great idea to leave the bathroom window slightly ajar when she got out of the shower, and now it genuinely feels like the cold winds of Glasgow are once again dancing around in Malcolm's boxers as he takes off the extraneous layers that are currently preventing him from feeling Nicola's skin on his. She's having a little trouble doing the same, faffing with the zip at the back of her dress, and he crosses the room and kisses her, hard, before suggesting very politely that she might like to keep it on. It's a difficult deal to strike with Nicola usually, he has to be careful not to make it sound like he doesn't want to _see_ her, especially since the currently Baltic conditions of their bedroom are probably going to necessitate a shag under the duvet. Not what Nicola deserves on Christmas Eve, but he'll make it up to her tomorrow morning before they have to go and get the kids. Tonight though, she catches onto his meaning immediately, and there's no moment of indecision or soft frown of concern. She simply grins, then flops back at the head of the bed in a move that he would find offputting if she wasn't his wife, and waits for him to come over and tuck her up in the blankets. They form a sort of cocoon, Malcolm's knees bracketing her thighs as he pulls the blankets over them, just enough to keep them warm without restricting what will become increasingly frenetic movement. For now Nicola is just lying quietly, for once, and he takes the time to kiss her deeply, fondly, with a depth of meaning that only multiple happy years together can bring. He's excited to start a new one in a week or so, but tonight his focus is in the moment, and most directly on the two freckles just below Nicola's collarbone where he gives her a tiny little kitten lick before heading South, kissing along the delightfully soft skin of her breasts, the fluffy trim tickling his nose.


	2. Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas smut, if by smut you want gentle tender Malcola sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nics is very slightly tipsy, not drunk, and they're obviously being safe.

Nicola feels herself smile, both at the fact that this beautiful, attentive man is her husband, and at the way his nose wrinkles a little as he is practically attacked by the fluff. Malcolm is clearly a little disappointed at not being able to get to her breasts proper, but then his hand slides up her thigh and those inquisitive fingers gently ping the fabric of her suspenders, and the thought is forgotten. Its impossible not to gasp softly, even though that results in a self-satisfied smug smile from Malcolm, and she's almost ready to sit up and have her way with him instead when he kisses her again, deep and languid and she'll probably just stay here actually, this is definitely quite nice. Its testament to how familiar Malcolm is with the entire concept of stockings and suspenders that he manages to undo the little clips entirely blind, none of the awkward fumbling and apologies that characterised her sex life before him. They can be idiots in bed, of course, and there's the occasional connection of elbow and rib or foot and head, quite frequently because Nicola is too fucked out and dopey to realise what he wants, but for all that they're professionals at each other now, and things tend to run smoothly. Speaking of, Malcolm's hands are now sliding down her legs, taking her knickers with him, so distracted by his kisses and God, that tongue, that she almost doesn't realise they're gone. 

There's no artifice to the way he touches her, no sense of performance, and tonight there's no need for teasing either. They do tease, of course, for hours and even days sometimes, but its Christmas Eve, for Christ's sake. A marital shag is almost mandatory. Her dress has ended up pushed up around her waist, and she gazes up at him with absolute devotion as Malcolm slips two fingers into her mouth. Nicola has always had some sort of oral fixation, which made Malcolm snort and roll his eyes when she first explained it to him, but its true, she just /loves/ having things in her mouth, from pens to pricks, she's not fussy. Its a well practiced move to slip her tongue between his fingers and suck, but he groans softly still, and she hopes he never gets tired of this. She certainly wont. The now slick fingers are eventually, reluctantly taken from her mouth, and Malcolm settles himself alongside her in a comfier position, letting her settle herself too before slipping them inside her. It never fails to make her whimper, no matter how many times they've been here before, and he kisses her over and over to speak the words that are caught somewhere between brain and mouth. "I love you, you're gorgeous, Happy Christmas" his kisses say as his thumb circles her clit and he crooks his fingers just so. 

After all the teasing of the evening, its almost overwhelming to finally have the tension broken, and just a few minutes in she's already wiggling beneath him. He makes light fun of her sometimes, only when they're alone, about the way she just /cant/ lay still, and he's grinning at her now, pausing in his path from lips to neck to look at her properly. "Quit wiggling, Nics" he murmurs, though the way he slides his fingers back deep inside her and brushes firmly against her clit seems unhelpful to the cause. "Fuck off" Nicola murmurs back, and thankfully he doesn't, just keeps doing what he knows is exactly right until she's gasping and incapable of forming proper words. Its a steady stream of "fuck, please, just there", she's always been talkative and even more so on the rare occasions they have the house completely to themselves. She's properly wet against his hand now, and the feeling of his fingers on her and in her and the /sound/ of it makes a shiver run up her spine as she arches her back in search of him. Her breath is slightly fast, and there's a hot bubbly feeling in the bottom of her belly that always makes her think of lava threatening to spill over. "Fucking need you" she manages to gasp, too far gone to attempt something sarky, and Malcolm grins against her neck where he's been occupying himself with giving her gentle kisses. 

"Oh, aye? Was that "fucking need you, please?" or nah?" He asks, though the husky edge to his voice completely undermines his pretence at being cool and collected. As does the way he's been not-so-subtly grinding his hips against the side of her thigh. "Was fucking need you, you twat, actually" Nic is able to retort now he's stilled his fingers, and they both laugh softly at the ridiculousness of it all. "Cmon then, pickle. Get up top, wannae see ye" Malcolm suggests as he carefully withdraws his hand, though theres an unspoken agreement that she's free to say no. The thought doesnt cross her mind however, not for a second, and she chucks the covers back unceremoniously as they swap places. Malcolm always looks gorgeous, but even more so beneath her, and Nic takes a moment to just drink in the sight of him, the way the hollow of his neck moves as he breaths hard in anticipation. Thankfully her dress is short enough that she doesn't need to hold it up, it just skims across his tummy and tickles him relentlessly as she leans over to grab lube. Theres no elegance at all in the way she shuffles backwards, straddling his thighs and squeezes some into her hand, and the bottle even makes a cliche spluttering noise for good measure. But it doesn't matter, not a bit, they're married and it's Christmas and Malcolm Tucker is hard beneath her and Nicola has possibly never been happier. 

Christ, her fingers are delicate, Malcolm thinks, watching the way she wraps her hand around his cock and slicks the lube over his sensitive skin, careful not to tease or tickle. Its almost enough to make him wish they were inside him, but she's had a couple of Baileys earlier tonight and therefore her lack of manual dexterity means the thought of Nicolas fingers across his prostate is going to have to wait. Perhaps for New Years, his subconscious mind helpfully suggests, and he tells it to shut the fuck up and concentrate. Her gorgeously soft, shapely thighs are framing his hips, and he almost has time to worry about the strain on her bad knee before she's sinking down onto him, probably just to spite his inner mother hen. He finds he doesnt care why though, he just wants her to keep doing it, and thankfully she does, taking him deep inside her and then sliding almost all the way up. She keeps up this particularly delightful little tactic for a while, until they're both clearly too desperate for each other to wait any longer, and he grips her hips firmly as he brings his own up in time with her rhythm, fucking into her and making her moan. God, that's addictive, chasing his own high and her pretty noises in equal measure. "Fuckin hell, Nic, feel so fucking good" he groans, and that makes her whimper gorgeously too. "Ye like that, darlin? My gorgeous girl. So fuckin good for me, so wet, so talented at riding me, eh?" There's a simple joy in filthy talking to her until her cheeks flush, and he knows he can say things in this space that he wouldnt dare say in the morning. 

The pace they slip into is a little frantic, and they both know Nicola will be complaining about her thigh muscles in the morning. Its beyond worth it though, they fit together perfectly and they're so in tune with each others bodies by now that he knows to reach round and squeeze her arse before the request has even formed on her lips. Malcolm's doing most of the work, but if anyone deserves to sit pretty and be roundly fucked it's Nicola, and the effort of thrusting up into her at least encourages him to stave off his own impending orgasm a little longer. She can come like this, sometimes, but theres no harm in a helping hand, and since both his are firmly palming at her frankly sinful plush arse under the velvet of her skirt, she supposes she'll have to exercise some feminist independence. Plus, Malcolm loves it when she touches herself. Its not something she's done much of, but she's learning what she likes, and right now what she likes is a firm, insistent circling of her throbbing clit with two slippy fingers. Its enough to make her swallow hard with sheer arousal, and the next "Malcolm" that escapes her lips is distinctly throaty and low. He knows exactly what that means, bless him, and a few more purposeful firm thrusts and they're both coming hard. And loud, always loud, of course they are. Nicola goes for an entirely indulgent husky "fuck, Malcolm, Christ" followed by a moan that comes from the bottom of her belly as she tenses around him and then shakes apart, and it's only moments before he follows with a choked-off delightful little yelp, coming deep inside her and holding her even tighter. 

This is often not the end of the evening for them, Nicola has learnt by now she's more than capable of coming over and over again under his talented hands and mouth, but they've a big day tomorrow, so she smiles when he comes back to reality and she sees the question form, and then leans down to kiss him. "Love you" she mumbles against his lips, before very carefully sliding off and lying next to him, half on the sheets and her legs on top of the mound of duvet at the end of the bed. "Love ye too, Mrs Claus" he teases back, though he's so sleepy and fucked out sounding that it loses most of its intention and just comes out as entirely blissful. Its sweet, and she smiles, and the business of finding her knickers and tidying up can wait, just for now. It is Christmas, after all.


End file.
